Spring in War Time

It’s Good Friday, and it’s a beautiful sunny spring day here in Los Angeles, but all around me there is talk of war: bombs in Syria; bombs in Afghanistan; bombs in North Korea. Sara Teasdale, an American poet of the early 20th century, noted this irony in her “Spring in War Time.”

Spring in War Time
by Sara Teasdale

I feel the Spring far off, far off,
The faint far scent of bud and leaf–
Oh how can Spring take heart to come
To a world in grief,
Deep grief?

The sun turns north, the days grow long,
Later the evening star grows bright–
How can the daylight linger on
For men to fight,
Still fight?

The grass is waking in the ground,
Soon it will rise and blow in waves–
How can it have the heart to sway
Over the graves,
New graves?

Under the boughs where lovers walked
The apple-blooms will shed their breath–
But what of all the lovers now
Parted by death,
Gray Death?


One thought on “Spring in War Time

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